


Haven's Fall

by Meraad



Series: The Disaster that is Evelyn Trevelyan [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:28:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28114644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meraad/pseuds/Meraad
Summary: When Haven is attacked, Evelyn Trevelyan is more than willing to throw herself into the fray and sacrifice herself to save the villagers.Blackwall is less than pleased with her choices but also knows there is little he can do about her self-destructive streak.
Relationships: Blackwall | Thom Rainier/Female Inquisitor, Blackwall | Thom Rainier/Female Trevelyan
Series: The Disaster that is Evelyn Trevelyan [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1244630
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Haven's Fall

Evelyn could barely suck in a breath for all the pain she was in. Her arm pulsed with pain from Corypheus trying to take the mark, the anchor, back.  _ Andraste’s chosen, my ass _ , she thought. She was fairly certain that when he’d tossed her she’d broken a rib. Probably had a concussion because her vision was swimming. 

But she stood up. Pushed up painfully to her feet and stared at him. “You want to kill me?” Evelyn let out a bitter laugh. Then she saw it, in the distance, up past the tree line. The flare of light that Cullen had told her he’d signal when they were all safe. 

They were safe.

Turning, Evelyn kicked hard at the release for the trebuchet, felt it tremble beneath her as the massive boulder snapped forward. She watched it, and so did Corypheus. “Then come and get me.” She spread her arms wide, stood waiting. If he wanted to kill her, she’d let him. Because they were safe and if he stayed, he’d die too.

The sound of the snow rushing down was loud and Corypheus let out a roar, and his dragon swooped down and grabbed him and then they were gone. Evelyn watched, then she looked toward the white wall cascading down, taking out everything in its path and she closed her eyes. Tipping her head back she let her arms fall to her sides and waited.

Blackwall would be angry with her, she knew that. But he’d stay with the Inquisition, and he’d help them more than she ever could have. As for the rifts? Well, she hoped that closing the big one might have drawn the rest closed. But if it hadn’t, they’d figure out something.

He was going to throttle her. Maybe that would shake some sense into her. Blackwall sat beside the unconscious woman. She’d barely survived. When she had been found she’d been half-frozen and barely breathing. Her body so broken that the only reason they believed she’d survived was because of the snow-packed around her. The worst of her injuries had been healed, but her arm remained in a splint and there was a new gash on her forehead when the other one had only just healed. 

Flexing his hand, Blackwall looked down at it, at the split knuckles. Then he glanced to where the trio of leaders argued. Rutherford threw out an arm in the direction of the makeshift infirmary, his face turning enough that Blackwall saw the shadow of the bruise on his jaw.  _ I don’t feel even a little bad for it, _ he thought, then looked back down at Evelyn. “Stupid, fool-headed woman.” 

Blackwall had heard the massive chantry door close, had watched as soldiers replaced the massive wooden beam in front of it and he’d known instantly Evelyn was on the other side of that door. He’d seen the look in her eye when the attack had begun. The glint had unsettled him. 

She didn’t care if she died. After all, she’d been livid that he’d saved her those months ago after she’d taken on those demons at the rift. Maybe it wasn’t the Commander’s fault that Evelyn had a deathwish, but he’d given her the means to accomplish it. And she had come so close once more.

A quiet, pained sound came from the woman laid out on the ground beside him. They had escaped with so little, that his gambeson lay beneath her, while someone’s offered cloak was spread over her. Blackwall looked over at Evelyn, saw her face scrunched in pain, and clenched his jaw. He was angry that she’d put herself in danger, that she’d nearly died. Livid that she didn’t have any regard for her own life.

Evelyn’s eyes cracked open and then she turned her head slightly away and then toward him and met his gaze. He watched a tear leak from the corner of her eye and grit his teeth. He was worried that if he opened his mouth and spoke to her he’d start yelling. 

_ You aren’t going to save me. You can’t fix me. _

Angry words she’d shouted at him a mere hour before the attack on Haven. Blackwall looked back down at his hand, his bloody knuckles.

“What-” her voice cracked and her exhale sounded painful, her breath rattling in her chest. 

_ You aren’t going to save me. You can’t fix me. _

That wasn’t what he was trying to do. Or at least, he hadn’t thought it was. But maybe, he had subconsciously thought that saving her from her own destruction would somehow ease the weight of his own deeds from his soul. 

“Blackwall.” Evelyn shifted her splinted arm as if to reach out but another pained sound escaped her, drawing the attention of the healer. As the old woman came over, Blackwall stood and walked away without a word.

Evelyn watched Blackwall walk away through the haze of pain. Every bone in her body felt as if it were broken. The old healer began to fuss over her, quietly murmuring things about Evelyn being Maker Blessed and Andraste’s chosen.

“Go away,” she rasped and the healer stilled. “Go away,” she said again, more forcefully and there was a beat of silence before the woman stood back up and left her. Closing her eyes against the sudden burning she tried to take slow and even breaths, but even that hurt.

How had she even survived? Evelyn had been so certain that she wouldn’t walk away from her encounter with Corypheus, but at least the innocent people of Haven would be safe. What would they say when she told them the truth about the mark?

Andraste had nothing to do with it and neither did the Maker. She wasn’t chosen, she’d just had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time apparently. Seeker Pentaghast would be livid, Evelyn thought with a slight curve of her lips that turned to grimace at the discomfort it caused. Somehow, she thought, Cassandra would blame everything on Evelyn.

Someone sat down beside her silently and she cracked open an eye to see the boy, Cole. “Did they all make it?” she whispered. He rocked forward slightly, fingers tapping against his knees.

“Chancellor Roderick died. A few others succumbed to their injuries. But they were already hurt.” He lifted his head, looked off to where she couldn’t see. “He’s angry. They all are.” 

Good for them, Evelyn thought, her own fury kindling beneath all the pain. They had no right to be angry with her. He had no right. She’d saved their sorry asses. She’d been willing to sacrifice herself to be sure they could escape. And as soon as she could get up on her feet again, she was going to make sure that Blackwall knew that. 

“He knows you want to die.” Evelyn flinched at his words and Cole looked back down at her. They were true, but to hear someone say them was startling. “They need you. They need you to lead them. They are scared and they believe.” 

That was their own misfortune, Evelyn thought bitterly. Ignoring the pain, she used her good arm to toss back the makeshift blanket and drew in a slow breath as she rolled over and bracing her hand against the bit of clothing beneath her she stilled, recognized Blackwall’s gambeson and she grit her teeth, somehow even angrier with him from that small gesture. It took an embarrassingly long time for Evelyn to manage to get up onto her feet, but once she did, walking was at least relatively easy, though she knew her body was a mess of bruises.

She walked across the camp, ignored the stares and the whispers, and stopped before the bickering quartet. She looked at each of them, Cassandra was furious, Cullen looked guilty and bore a large bruise on his jaw along with a split lip. Josephine was obviously worried and Leliana, her expression was unreadable. 

“What were you thinking?” Cassandra snapped, her voice barely above a shout. “You come back to the Inquisition only to court death at the very first chance? We need that mark on your hand to seal the rifts, and can’t very well do that if you are dead.” 

“I am here, aren’t I?” Evelyn asked and Cassandra let out a sound of pure disgust. “The Elder One, his name is Corypheus,” she told them, and then recounted all that he had said. All that the mark was, or rather, wasn’t. “It isn’t some divine mark from Andraste.” So maybe, and she was tempted to pray, but to who? They would stop looking to her as a leader, as the chosen one. They had to see it, didn’t they? That she was barely keeping herself together. Why did they insist that she was chosen for this?

She turned around and wanted nothing more than to slip off into the woods and just keep walking, but they were all looking at her. The villagers, the soldiers. Blackwall stood with his back against a tree, arms crossed over his chest. Evelyn had a few choice words for him, but she ached and she was so tired. So when her gaze met Solas’ and he inclined his head she followed, ready for him to lay into her as Cassandra did. 

Only he didn’t. Scout to the north. Safety for the people. A fortress for the army. 

Evelyn tried to sleep, but the pain grew increasingly worse and she snarled whenever a healer so much as glanced her way. So by the time the sky began to lighten with the dawn's early light, she felt mentally shattered. As if anyone so much as breathed in her direction, she’d completely fall to pieces. 

What little they had was gathered up, Leliana’s scouts forged ahead, soldiers brought up the rear, and they began to move. It was slow going with so many injured, some being carried on litters others limping along on makeshift crutches or leaning on friend or family. The snow was thick, which hindered them more. 

Hindered her. She walked alone, arms around her stomach, holding what remained of herself together. But each step was harder than the last and she fell back farther and farther until even the weakest of the villagers was far ahead. A handful of soldiers remained with her, forming a half-circle at her back, but they kept their distance. Her legs gave out and she collapsed into the snow on her knees, her chest heaving with each labored breath.

Boots appeared in her line of vision and she blinked, slowly tilting her head up. “Don’t you dare,” Evelyn rasped. “If you so much as lay a finger on me I’ll gut you,” the threat sounded weak to her own ears but she thought that had it been anyone else, it might have worked. But it was Blackwall who stood in front of her and he just lifted a brow and unceremoniously picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder.

The pain nearly had her blacking out and she heard her cry echo off the trees. “You fucking-” she gasped out, her vision spinning and swimming as his shoulder pressed painfully against her stomach.

“You want to suffer? Fine, you can suffer,” he snapped at her. “But you aren’t going to slow these people down when all they want is shelter.” 

“I’ll kill you,” she told him, but as her vision was already going grey around the edges the threat was empty and he knew it. “Just-” she hiccuped and was mortified at the quiet sob that escaped her. “Leave me,” she whispered. 

The hand on her thigh tightened, almost bruising, but Blackwall didn’t respond, he just walked, easily catching up with the others and Evelyn stopped fighting the black creeping in over her vision. 

Blackwall stayed silent as he walked, concentrating on Evelyn’s breathing, the tense strength of her muscles. She had lasted longer walking than he’d expected, but the frozen tears on her cheeks after she’d collapsed had surprised him. He imagined she hadn’t even known she was crying. 

He felt her body go limp over his shoulder. He was angry with her, livid really, but despite all signs to the contrary he had been careful when he’d tossed her over his shoulder. Blackwall walked a bit further, just to be certain she truly was unconscious before he glanced over at the healer who met his gaze. He inclined his head and the older woman crossed to him, shaking out a blanket that he gently set Evelyn down on. Then he crouched there, as the healer held her softly glowing hands over her unconscious form.

“You know her,” quiet words from the man who came to stand beside him. Blackwall didn’t reply, much of that anger still directed at the Commander as well. “I mean, you actually know her.” 

Evelyn kept herself locked off from those of the Inquisition, responding to any and all overtures of kindness or friendship with hostility. Blackwall let out a grunt neither denying or agreeing with Cullen’s words. The healer reached into the small leather bag at her hip, rummaged around, and withdrew in a little glass jar. Removing the stopper she tipped a tablet into her hand and murmured something too low for Cullen to hear. But Blackwall reached out, tipped Evelyn’s mouth open and the healer tucked the tablet beneath the unconscious woman’s tongue. 

Cullen didn’t know what the relationship was between Lady Trevelyan and the Warden Blackwall, but it had been apparent from the moment she fell after sealing the breach. He couldn’t imagine anyone else would have dared offer a hand to help her, especially after she had lobbed the threat of disembowelment. “We need her,” Cullen spoke quietly as Blackwall thanked the healer, and then after securing the blanket around her, he scooped her up into his arms, taking care of her injuries.

Blackwall sent Cullen a dark look. “Need her? You were the one who sent her out to her death in Haven,” he snarled.

Shame pinked Cullen’s cheeks and he ducked his head. “She-” his defense was on the tip of his tongue, weak and he knew it. It had been her plan, knowing it was likely suicide. Cullen knew that if the Warden hadn’t held the woman in his arms, he likely would have punched him again. Because Cullen had known, had seen it so clearly in her eyes as she’d explained the plan to him. Death would be a welcome escape. Which was something Cullen understood himself, hadn’t he felt as much for a time after the fall of Kinloch Hold?

The Warden cared for this woman, that much was clear. “I apologize,” Cullen told him, sincerely. “It seemed the only option in the moment.” 

“She has no regard for her own life or common sense,” Blackwall groused. 

After a moment, Cullen blew out a breath. “I will endeavor to see that she isn’t in such a position again,” he said, wanting to appease the Warden.

Blackwall let out a derisive snort. “Yeah, I’d like to see you try,” his tone was bitter. They walked in silence for some time, finally, relenting, he laid Evelyn out on a litter, and they continued on their way until they had to rest. 

Evelyn woke, disoriented. Her head was throbbing with every beat of her heart and her stomach twisted with nausea. It took her long minutes to get to her feet. It was dark, most everyone asleep save for the lookouts and a handful of healers. She found him easily enough, stretched out near a fire that burned low, one arm behind his head, his eyes closed. 

She kicked him hard in the side, payback for him tossing her over his shoulder and he let out a pained grunt, half sitting up. “Asshole,” Evelyn rasped, sinking down onto her knees beside him. “I hate you, you fucking-” her teeth were chattering. Despite her words, she didn’t resist when he tugged her down onto his makeshift bedroll and made sure she was tucked between him and the fire, the blanket wrapped around her before his arm banded around her middle. “Asshole,” she muttered, and heard him grunt quietly but the words held little heat as sleep took her once more. 


End file.
